


One Man Advantage

by kat_fanfic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Assistant Trainer Derek, CPA Universe, First Time, M/M, slight Chicago Blackhawks references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_fanfic/pseuds/kat_fanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Werewolves playing hockey," Finstock murmured balefully. "I didn't sign up for this."</p><p>Pucks and injuries and stupid boys, oh my.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Man Advantage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tmzcori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmzcori/gifts).



> Not only is this a Hockey AU, it's also an AU of the 'verse I introduced in my story [Sacred Simplicity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/667986). I tried to make this as self-explanatory as possible, without boring people that have read "Sacred", but let me know if it doesn't work! :)
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful betas [Max](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown)  
> and [hbrooks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hbrooks/pseuds/hbrooks)! You're awesome! <3
> 
> Also, this is for Cori. Thank you for your patience, bb.

There wasn’t much that could faze Coach Finstock.

He had lived through the prank-war of ’05, had gotten the Beacon Hills Wildcats to the playoffs single-handedly for six years in a row, and had managed to get his team through the great summer athlete’s foot outbreak without any lasting damage. He was not going to be defeated by an annoying sixteen-year-old ‘wolf with raging hormones and not enough brains to control them.

“This is it,” he bellowed, shoving Greenberg out of the way. “I’m telling you once and for all, McCall, cut. It. Out! I don’t care if your girlfriend just made out with the whole Mathletes team, you are not to destroy school property in your supernatural temper tantrum!”

Glaring at the little delinquent, he once again considered the possibility of quitting. He loved coaching hockey, especially in the school where he himself had played as a student, but the times definitely had changed since he’d started this job. With Scott, Boyd, Ethan, Aiden and Isaac all being on the team, the Creature quota was filled up, and he himself was ready to throw in the towel. At least they’d gotten rid of the Kanima mutation, but even that hadn’t done much to lighten his mood.

Truth was, he was pretty much at the end of his rope. With the way things were going, he’d seriously started to regret declining the position of Head Coach at one of the local community colleges. At least they deemed it mandatory to employ a Creature liaison councilor, one for each of their sports teams, whereas he’d had had to rely on his own wit and leadership qualities to keep the ever-growing number of Creatures on his team at bay.

Of course, there were rules about Creature citizens playing sports. There was a fixed number of allowed Creatures for each team, and to protect the humans, they were only allowed to use their special abilities on each other. But still, teenagers equipped with super-strength, superior hearing, the ability to turn into a wolf-like creature and combining that with super-fast healing pretty much guaranteed more trouble than Finstock felt prepared to handle.

 “Werewolves playing hockey,” he murmured balefully. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

Maybe it was time to move on after all. He’d heard that a coveted spot as hockey trainer at the California Ice Resort would soon open up, and as luck would have it, he knew the camp director. Some non-contact junior league hockey sounded like exactly the thing for him, and with the way his investments were going, he could afford it to work part-time.

The decision felt right and he instantly wanted to start plotting his departure, irritation flooding him again when McCall interrupted his musings. Why was it that teenagers always thought they knew better?

Glaring at the new Beta, he placated himself with the knowledge that in a few short weeks, he’d be gone and would never have to deal with the likes of McCall again.

If they both survived that long.

 

* * * *

 

Stiles grinned as Scott stared at the pile of broken hockey sticks and ripped pads at his feet.

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” Scott grumbled as the yellow gleam faded from his eyes.

Coach snorted. “And you don’t think that may be the problem? Do whatever you have to do to get yourself under control: join the debates club, do yoga, get laid, whatever. Just pull yourself together, McCall. Or you’re off the team.”

“What?” Scott cried out. “Coach, you can’t—“

Finstock waved his finger in front of Scott’s face. “Less whining, more training. Get out on the ice again, give me suicides. Proper ones, not those half-assed, slow skates you keep on doing. Can’t pull wool over my head.”

Scott looked about ready to protest again, but Stiles kicked him hard in the shin before he could. Shooting him a glare, Scott nonetheless started to put on his skates again. “How many?”

“As many as it takes, McCall!” The Coach snapped at him, adding something under his breath that was echoed by the twins snickering and a few audible gasps from the other ‘wolfs that immediately made Stiles wish he had superior hearing as well. He didn’t want to ask, though, so he settled on keeping an eye on the smug-looking twins.

The two Betas where across the room, almost finished with getting dressed after their shower, now wearing matching expressions of glee. Stiles watched them, narrowing his eyes in thought. For some reason, the two of them had had it in for the other ‘wolfs on the team since they’d joined it a couple of months ago. He’d tried to keep an eye on them, but hadn’t been able to find any reason why the newbies would have anything against them. Well, maybe except for the fact that they had delusions of grandeur (and had let the fact that their combined Beta powers almost made them rival an Alphas’) get to their heads.

“Don’t call him that” Boyd growled in answer to the Coach’s comment, earning himself a fierce glare from both the coach and Greenberg.

“Oh, get over it,” the coach said dismissively.

“Yeah, just get over it, Boyd,” Greenberg repeated.

“Suck-up,” Isaac murmured and stuck his tongue out at his teammate. He lit up when Scott’s lips twitched, despite his obvious bad mood, but missed the way Scott’s eyes flickered over to him when he pulled off his undershirt. His gaze lingering for a few seconds, Scott suddenly startled and looked away quickly, a faint blush reddening his cheeks, his face twisting into a confused scowl.

Stiles rolled his eyes, equally amused and exasperated by Scott’s obliviousness. He met Danny’s gaze, grinning at the speculative gleam in the goalie’s eyes. He shook his head a little, grin transforming into a smirk when Danny’s answer was a frown.

Their ongoing bet amused him to no end: probably because he couldn’t really lose. If he was right and Scott continued to stick his head as far up his own ass as he could, Stiles would get a nice little supplement to his allowance. If Danny proved to be right, he’d get a much happier Scott and an end to the angsty drama that was Scott and Allison.

Glancing at Isaac, he sighed at the adoring look on his friend’s face as the young ‘wolf continued to stare at Scott. Right there was the only possible casualty in the whole thing. He wasn’t quite sure when Isaac had begun to look at Scott like the other ‘wolf had hung the moon – pun intended – but unfortunately it had been sometime after Allison had transferred to Beacon Hills and started playing the part of Helen of Troy.

Letting out a frustrated huff, Stiles slowly began to pull on his street clothes, foregoing the shower here for a long one at home. Isaac was already done with his, while Scott had been too preoccupied by his anger to move at all and had been sitting on the bench with a dark glower on his face. At least he was still wearing his gear and only had to put the skates and helmet back on for the additional laps.

Stiles mostly ignored him, his default setting for werewolf troubles. For all of his internet savvy and the hours he’d spent talking to Miss Morrell, the school’s Creature liaison, he still mostly played things by ear when it came to his Creature friends. A lot of the time, he felt utterly and irrevocably out of his depths and only the sure knowledge that without his interference, the mess would be an even bigger one kept him going.

Just like the whole Scott and Isaac situation. Sometimes, he was tempted to take a step back and just let the two of them hash it out with each other, but then he’d take a look at Isaac’s face and cave. Qualified or not, Stiles was the only non-Creature the Beta let close enough to actually be able to help, so he didn’t really have a choice.

The boy had yet to catch a real break, despite the bite that had healed him from the damage his abusive father had done to his spine. Back then, nobody had really known about what Mr. Lahey was doing to his son behind closed doors. They all had a vague notion of something not being right, but no-one had ever seen anything concrete.

 It was only after Isaac hadn’t come to school three days in a row without notice that Stiles convinced his Dad to check up on him, and then it had been sheer luck that had him take Deputy Kali with him. She had noticed the smell of blood right away. They’d found Isaac in a puddle of red, beaten to within an inch of his life, unable to move his legs.

The bite had been Chris Argent’s idea. As Chief Hunter for the Beacon Hills District, he was the one that approved or declined any requests for trans-species changes. This time though, he’d been the one to actively encourage it, and after sitting with Isaac one long afternoon as the other boy listlessly stared out the window, Stiles had whole-heartedly agreed with the plan.

It was only later that he learned the reason for Isaac’s extreme reaction to being paralyzed. Apparently, through years of abuse, only the thought of playing hockey and going pro had kept Isaac sane and to have that dream snatched away so suddenly had sent him into deep depression.

The bite helped him walk again, after weeks and weeks of brutal physical therapy at least, but Stiles still thought it peculiar how a lot of his classmates assumed that once the physical ramifications were dealt with, the emotional damages would be as easily healed. Ignorant assholes, the lot of them. No one just got over being almost beaten to death by their own father willy-nilly. Not even when emancipated at 17 because nobody was willing to take them in.

Not that Scott’s mom hadn’t tried, but she had too much on her plate as it was, what with Scott having only been bitten a couple of months ago and the ever-increasing workload at the hospital. She’d once jokingly said that living in Beacon Hills was like living in Forks, only with more sun. The place was crawling with ‘wolfs and other folks, mostly due to the strict order the Argents managed to maintain. Additionally, Melissa’s recent specialization in Creature care made her much sought-after and had her working crazy hours, leaving barely enough time for her son, let alone a foster kid.

Feeling as helpless as he had since the first time he’d seen the bruises on Isaac’s pale skin, Stiles leaned toward him. “Isaac? You want to come over after practice, have a bite at my place and get a head-start on that history project?”

Looking startled and quietly excited (as he always did) when someone showed him any kindness, Isaac glanced quickly at Scott. “Uh, sure?”

Barely restraining from scoffing out loud, Stiles threw his balled-up socks at Scott’s head to get his attention, helmet and all.

“What?” Scott snapped, obviously still in a huff despite the fact that Stiles knew that he actually loved the mind-numbing monotony skating alone provided. It was probably being singled out that bothered him, rather than the punishment itself.

“You, me, Isaac. My place. Later. Food. Studying.” Stiles earned a grunt and a damp towel against his chest. He grimaced as he pulled it off with two fingers. “Gross, man,” he complained. “At least my socks were clean. So. You in?”

Scott hesitated, fidgeting with his stick as his gaze flickered between Stiles and Isaac. “Uh, I don’t know. Let me get back to you, yeah?”

Stiles huffed an annoyed breath, watching Isaac’s face fall. “If you’re hoping to stalk Allison after her archery practice, you’re shit out of luck. She is going to the Ice girls skate with Lydia and Erica. I don’t get that, by the way, “ he said as an aside to Isaac, “why they have to practice to shovel away bits of ice almost every day, It can’t be that hard.”

Isaac grinned faintly, but most of his attention was on Scott and his answer.

Flushing in embarrassment as it was obvious that he had intended just that, Scott puffed up his chest. “I am not stalking her, Stiles!”

“Oh?” Stiles replied, refusing to be intimidated by his best friend. “Then what do you call knowing her schedule better than your own? And don’t forget that you shadow her on her way home. That’s not creepy at all. Oh, wait. It is.”

He took a step towards the hallway when the Coach waved him forward, but shot back a quick insult nonetheless. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Lydia-Martin-shits-multicolored-Skittles,” he growled.

Feigning hurt by pressing a hand to the left side of his chest, Stiles shook his head mournfully. “Curse your sudden, but inevitable betrayal,” he intoned, before sobering with a sigh. “Lydia, really? You think I’m still hung up on her? Man, you’re so far out of the loop, it’s not even funny anymore.”

Whatever it was about that statement that hit Scott right in the guts, apparently it was enough to have him see red. With a shout that was more snarl than human utterance, he stepped forward getting right into Stiles’ face. Gulping as adrenaline flooded his system, Stiles met Scott’s furious gaze. Even though he might die a violent death.

Before his best friend’s bloodlust could manifest, Stiles was harshly pulled back by a wolfed-out Isaac. “Get back.” Isaac sounded in control, though his muscles bulged and his eyes burned a deep amber.

Straining against the younger wolf’s grip, Scott met Stiles’ gaze and as abruptly as the anger had overtaken him, it left. He deflated, slumping in Isaac’s grip, even flinching a little at the Coach’s sharp bellow.

“McCall! On the ice, now, before I do something I won’t regret!”

Slinking off like a beaten dog, Scott gave Stiles a quick apologetic glance through the plastic sight of his helmet and was gone before anyone could say a word. Stiles grimaced as Isaac took a shuddering breath and turned away. It wasn’t the first time the poor kid been caught in the middle between Stiles and Scott. It sucked seeing it every time, and still, the three of them seemed to be unable to help themselves, ending up in the same arguments over and over again.   

“That went well,” Finstock grumbled. “I don’t know about you airheads, but I’m about ready to eat a horse, how about we leave McCall to his fate and scoot?”

“Look, Coach, maybe you could cut Scott some slack—” Stiles started to say, only to be rudely interrupted.

“Cut him some slack?” The Coach snarled, spittle flying out of his mouth. “Are you out of your mind, Stilinski? I know that you and McCall have some kind of co-dependency shit going on, but even that shouldn’t prevent you from recognizing that your buddy is walking the edge here. One wrong step and the CPA committee won’t hesitate to have him Impounded, not after what happened his first full moon.”

Stiles winced. There wasn’t much he had to say in Scott’s defense on that account considering that Allison still wouldn’t talk to either of them. Not that he could fault her, not really. After all, having a freshly turned ‘wolf climbing into one’s bedroom in the middle of the night was bad enough. But make that a very naked freshly turned ‘wolf followed by his very agitated and pepper-spray armed best friend and you had all the ingredients for an ass-whupping – which they’d barely avoided, what with Allison being a hunter in training.

The Creature Protection Act Committee hadn’t taken kindly to one of their Approveds behaving like that, but since it was Scott’s first transformation they’d let it slide with a warning.

Since then, Scott had had to take suppressors on the full moon to help him control his instincts, Stiles was on strict orders to keep himself out of things, and Allison had taken to watch them from afar, her eyes resting on Scott more often than not, but flickering away as soon as he looked back.

“Nothing to say?” the Coach snapped, more ticked off by his silence. “Fortunately, I already had a talk with Principal Argent about this and she agreed with my assessment of this… situation.” He fixed them with a glare.

They all sat quietly, more or less cowed, and awaited their fate with the air of lambs being led to the slaughter. Well, almost all of them. Danny looked a little bored, but as the Coach’s favorite, he probably didn’t live in fear like the rest of them.

On the other hand, Stiles also wasn’t worried. Any major changes would be announced by the Principal herself, and since there was no sight of Victoria Argent anywhere, he let himself relax a little.

“In short, I’ve hired myself an assistant,” the Coach declared after several beats of tense silence.

There were numerous breaths of relief. Stiles’ eyes narrowed.

“Since some of you seem unable to grasp the basic concept of self-restraint, I have made sure that the person assigned to take you on will be more than equipped to handle any shenanigans, be they human or Creature in nature.”  

Stiles didn’t want to be intimidated by the innocuous words, but he really didn’t like the dangerous tone in which they were delivered. At all.

Naturally, it was Greenberg that broke the quiet with typical aplomb. “So, what, you hired a Liaison councilor?”

The grin Finstock gave could only be described as devilish. “No,” he said. “I hired a ‘wolf.”

 

* * * *

 

“Finstock did what?” Scott was less than pleased when Stiles had filled him in after he’d finally been let off the ice after a grueling thirty minutes of hard skating.

Isaac had stuck around as well, opting to go home with them right away rather than stopping at his tiny apartment first. Scott growled something about “meddling CPA spies”, words muffled by the towel he rubbed vigorously over his face.

Stiles held up his hands placatingly. “He said the ‘wolf he hired was a real hockey pro, not someone the CPA committee has sent. The guy had to back down from playing in the NHL for some reason but was on a fast-track to getting big, so at least he’s not a total tool. I hope. Coach wouldn’t tell us his name or anything, but he did let it slip that he had played for a Western Conference team.”

Scott snorted. “Yeah, because that narrows it down.”

“Why is it so important who the guy is?” Isaac piped up, handing Scott a sports drink. “He’s a ‘wolf, so at least he knows what we’re dealing with, keeping ourselves in check all the time. And we sure could use some help when it comes to using our powers right.”

Scott took the bottle without comment, chugging half of it down in one big gulp before throwing it on the bench as he stripped off his pads. “Like hell we do. Just because Finstock can’t handle us doesn’t mean that we need someone to muck things up around here.”

Isaac snorted, his eyes narrowing in the stubborn way that Stiles had come to equally cherish and fear. It was great to see Isaac come out of his shell; the only problem with it was that Scott wasn’t used to opposition from anyone other than Stiles.

“Maybe it’s time for someone to whip you into shape,” Isaac answered, eyes blazing in one of his rare moments of suicidal bravery. “I haven’t seen you score in, how long now? Four games? But perhaps you don’t have to score because you have other things to do… oh, wait, you don’t. You’re the center, Scott, we need you to be focused on moving the puck to the net and not what is going on in the stands.”

Stiles groaned, the sound drowned out by Scott’s furious roar that was abruptly cut off as he stumbled over his tangled underpants that he’d never quite finished pulling off. Arms waiving wildly for balance, he managed to catch himself only just and crashed into the hamper with the entire team’s dirty equipment.

He came to sit on the ground amidst the spilled contents, his face haloed by a pair of what looked like Spiderman underwear. Greenberg’s Spiderman underwear.

Stiles took a deep breath, his eyes crossing as he tried as hard as he could not to laugh. His face felt frozen from the effort, but he managed it.

Unfortunately, Isaac wasn’t as strong-willed.

As the first choked-off giggle was heard, Scott’s expression went from stunned to furious in a heartbeat and he was on his feet so quickly that Stiles couldn’t help but gasp out a strangled laugh, unable to help himself. And just like that, for the second time in as many hours, Scott and Isaac were on the brink of coming to blows over nothing, both unable to cope with the undefined tension between them any other way.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, all humor vanishing as his best friend grabbed Isaac by the shirt and snarled in his face.

Enough was enough, he decided then and there. “Scott,” he said calmly, stepping in front of Isaac. “Back off. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

He was very much aware of the fact that if Scott decided to let loose, he’d have no chance against him, but he wasn’t going to let Isaac take another beating—emotional or physical.

Once again he marveled at the fact that a scrawny human like him had to protect a big bad ‘wolf. It would be laughable, but experience had shown Isaac wouldn’t defend himself against Scott, not under any circumstances. He only ever stepped in when Scott threatened Stiles in more than his usual, vague rawr-one-day-I’m-gonna-kill-you way, which in turn prompted Stiles to separate the two before either of them could do anything they’d regret. He could acknowledge the irony of the whole situation, especially when the solution was so damn obvious.

Unfortunately, all his mumbled variations of “why don’t you two just get a room?” made Isaac uncomfortable. They usually went wide over Scott’s head. Not for the first time, Stiles asked himself how someone as dense as Scott had survived high school as long as he had.

Oh right, he could sprout claws at will. And for all that he was the biggest idiot to ever walk the earth, he was also a huge puppy that nobody could stay mad at for longer than two seconds. Even if lately, any resemblance to a dog would be to a rabied one, he still managed to get away with more than his share of things.

Sometimes, Stiles hated his best friend. Just for a little while at a time, but with heartfelt intensity nonetheless.

So, to protect them from each other, Stiles once again found himself stepping in between Scott and Isaac.

With a snarl, Scott turned away, releasing Isaac so abruptly that he stumbled back. “Whatever,” he huffed, grabbing his stuff. “You guys suck anyway.”

Watching Scott stomp away, foregoing the shower for a more dramatic, half-clothed exit, Stiles rolled his eyes so hard it actually hurt a little. “We don’t need a werewolf assistant coach,” he commented dryly. “We need the damn supernanny.”

Isaac snorted as he collected the various items (hairbrush, lip balm, shower gel, a skate) Scott had forgotten in his haste to give them to him later – and seriously, who forgot one skate?

Lifting his bulging bag as if it weighed nothing, Isaac looked at him expectantly. “Food now?”

Stiles grimaced. “Eat or be eaten. One way or another, that’s the story of my life.”

 

* * * *

 

Everyone froze the moment Derek stepped into the locker room. The ‘wolves in the room turned to him immediately, heads snapping up as they scented him, acting on instinct as they acknowledged his superior status, even if they’d never met a born Beta werewolf before. The humans sensed that something had changed as well, stopping all movement and ducking a little to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

Derek took it all in, baring his teeth in the facsimile of a grin. He took note of the way all the Betas dropped their gazes, avoiding his eyes as soon as he let a hint of brilliant blue bleed into them.

All except one.

“You must be Scott.” Derek stared down at the other Beta.

The boy shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the scrutiny. “What’s it to you?” he answered enough for Derek to clench his jaw.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

A soft hiss from his right had Scott breaking his gaze to glance at the boy sitting beside him. He was plainly, undeniably human, but with the distinct bearing of one used to being around Creature citizens. The boy had short, dark hair that was standing up every which way, pale skin and a distinct smell that had Derek breath in deep before he could stop himself. It was like nothing he’d ever encountered before, a warm, rich scent that had him breath in deep, fill his lungs with it. It reminded him of home, of mild nights and comforting touches, conjuring up half-forgotten memories of how it had been before everything had fallen apart. It sent a pang of loneliness through him, and Derek swallowed hard, clamping down on the feeling viciously.

He gave himself a stern but silent scolding, shoving the weird feeling of familiarity deep into the back of his mind. He had a job to do here, and he was pretty sure that sniffing his students wasn’t part of the training schedule, nice smell or not.

Just then, their eyes met, and Derek was startled to realize that the teenager was amused, if a little anxious. There was no fear in his gaze. Instead, the boy looked curious, giving him an interested once-over that brought unexpected heat to his face.

“You,” Derek growled at Scott, tearing his gaze away from the oddly fascinating human. “I’ve seen you play, Coach Finstock sent me some tapes. Do you really think that blunt force and a few acrobatics are going to get you far in a league as saturated with CCs as this one?” Though he aimed for gruffly exasperated rather than outright aggressive, he could see right away that the condescending tone inflamed Scott.

Scott hissed, “And who are you to tell me what to do anyway?”

Derek gave him a blank smile, but didn’t answer.

“You shut your pie-hole, McCall,” the Coach bellowed from behind him and Derek smirked as everyone in the room jumped a little. He had to give it to the man: he was sneaky as fuck.

“This is my new assistant coach,” Finstock continued, waving vaguely in Derek’s direction. “His name is Derek Hale and he is one if the few ‘wolves willing to get his paws dirty doing real work.”

Derek bristled at the implied insult to his species and saw a few frowns echo the sentiment, but he was distracted by the soft “oh,” that escaped the fuzzy-haired human and by the way the boy’s eyes widened comically. Derek sighed. Of course one of them would recognize the name.

Picking up on that, the Coach turned on the boy sharply. “Problem, Stilinksi?”

“Uh,” the boy stuttered, his gaze glued to Derek’s face for a long moment, before he managed to tear it away. “Nope. Nuh-uh. Niet. Nein. No problems here, Coach, none at all.”

Finstock glowered and for several breathless moments, the two stared at each other. Derek watched the silent exchange. That boy had a lot of guts, probably more than he had brains.

Finally though, the boy folded. Heaving a big sigh, he mechanically began to put on his skates without being prompted. “How many?”

Finstock grinned. “Why don’t we leave that up to the new assistant coach?”

Derek inclined his head, noting several curious gazes dropping away as soon as he turned toward them. Message received, the reaction read clearly and he couldn’t help but be impressed by the human Coach’s ability to gain respect. Of course, dealing with a bunch of male teenagers—daunting as that prospect was—had nothing on trying to put a rein on a newly bitten ‘wolf. One who also happened to be a male teenager, especially when that particular newborn had an overdeveloped confidence. He’d also assembled a semi-pack, from the looks of it.

Derek just barely resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Why again had he accepted this position? Oh yeah, because Laura had badgered him into it.

“It’ll be a great experience,” she’d said, beautiful pixie face as earnest as she ever was. “Especially if you want to go into counseling full-time. You did a great job with me and Uncle Peter, but dealing with obstinate youth will be much more par of the course in this line of work.”

Of course she was right, but that didn’t stop Derek from being resentful as hell.

He’d never been one of those people who knew at an early age what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives. All he’d ever really wanted  was to play hockey, and it just so happened that he was pretty good at it. Still, the drafting came as a total surprise to him and deciding to move across the country to Chicago and leave his family behind was the hardest decision he’d ever made.

But when his parents had died and Uncle Peter had been hurt, that’s when Derek really learned what he was made of. When Laura had called, forcing out words between harsh sobs, Derek didn’t have to think twice. He left the same night, after only a quick goodbye to his closest friends and a harried call to the General Manager.

“You can always come back,” he’d been told then. “We need defensemen of your caliber.”

He’d mumbled a vague ‘thank-you’ and was out the door of his small apartment not even half an hour after Laura’s call. Over the following weeks, as he tried to take care of everything, to get him and Laura settled in their family’s house again, arrange the funeral, talk to the doctors about Uncle Peter’s condition, he couldn’t help but think that this was what he was supposed to do, who he was supposed to be.

As he listened to Laura haltingly speak the eulogy and held her afterwards, he swallowed down the pain and buried it deep, focusing on helping the few members of his family he still had. Their little pack was diminished and broken, but it was still there.

He had never regretted his decision to quit his hockey career, but he did miss it enough to jump on the chance to coach the Beacon Hills Wildcats. Maybe he was about to regret that decision, though.

He watched the Betas, all of them, taking in their different stances and tried to get as good a read of them. He’d become proficient at that over time; months of watching Uncle Peter in his vigilant coma had given him an edge on interpreting the smallest changes in facial expressions or body movements.

Of course, one didn’t have to be an expert in micro-expressions to read the barely concealed disdain on the twin’s faces, or the way the gangly, nervous Beta with the dark locks kept looking at him. Trying not to show his discomfort under the direct stare, Derek ignored the obvious interest in that particular wolfs’ eyes.

 “You,” Derek said to the student with the sweet smell, the one Finstock had called Stilinski. “I’m not one for meaningless punishments, so why don’t we make this a group experience? I expect everyone on the ice in ten minutes for scrimmage.”

Among a few grumbles and more than one grimace, the team complied. Meeting Finstock’s gaze to signal the other man that they’d better use the few minutes they had to plan this little shindig—because the whole thing had been a spur of the moment thing in his part and about all Derek knew about the team as a whole was their rather tacky name—Derek turned to go. Just as he was about to step through the door, a loud stage whisper caught his attention.

“Dude,” the boy named Stilinski was saying. “That’s Derek Hale!”

Refusing to openly flinch, Derek turned tail. It had been a futile hope, not having anyone recognize him in his own hometown.

“Why in the hell did I come back here?” he murmured as he walked down the hallway to the rink.  

“Keep asking myself that, every damn day,” Finstock answered and clapped him on the back.

Feeling a tingle at the back of his neck, Derek turned around again. As soon as he looked directly at the curly-haired Beta that’d been staring at him, the young ‘wolf dropped his gaze, blushing a little.

Derek sighed. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten that particular look, and it never boded well. For the moment, he ignored it, hoping against hope that it’d just blow over as soon as he let lose with some of his more rigorous raining routines.

Right now, though, he had some homework to do. Settling down in Finstock’s tiny office, he went over the player stats, jotting down some observations and trying to put names to faces, while Finstock was sketching out plays to focus on for the scrimmage on a whiteboard. Adding their nicknames, he grimaced at some of them, but made sure to remember them nonetheless.

“You made Scott Captain?” Derek said sometime later, frowning down at his notes. “Wasn’t that a bit premature?”

The Coach snorted. “I was hoping it’d force some sense into him again. Truth is, McCall was a talented player before the change, but massively hindered by his asthma. I was hoping the ‘wolf abilities would catapult him to the top, but looks like they buggered him in the ass instead.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow, amused despite himself by Finstock’s turn of phrase. “He was chosen because of a sickness? Explains his aggressiveness.” He added ‘Volatile’ to the line that said ‘McCall, Scott (Call-Back) – Center – Captain’.

Directly underneath it, he’d written down the name of the human, the one everyone called ‘Stiles’. After taking a look at his real name, Derek couldn’t blame them. He was a defense player and was paired with another new ‘wolf, namely the curly-haired Beta that’d ogled him earlier. Apparently his name was Isaac Lahey – or ‘Whelp’, as he’d been nicknamed.

Finstock must have noticed him scowl at the ridiculous moniker. “That one was Whittemore’s creation,” he said. “It’s one of his tamer suggestions, but somehow it stuck.”

Shaking his head, Derek turned back to the files, picturing the players in his mind as he internalized their preferences. “Have the twins always played on one line?”

“As long as I’ve seen them play, yes,” Finstock answered absently. “They’re creepy too, reading each other’s mind on the ice, I swear. They’re old coach put up a massive fight when they got transferred here. I’m beginning to see why. ”

Derek inclined his head, scribbling ‘twin bond’ under their names.

With the little time they’d had to prepare it, the scrimmage went about as well as expected. Finstock had given him a few pointers and then he’d pretty much abandoned ship, which basically meant that after a few minutes of watching a disorganized scramble of adolescents on the ice, Derek had no choice but to throw himself into the fray.

“Halt!” he bellowed, effectively freezing everyone but a flailing Stilinski, who finally had to be tethered by the curly-haired beta. “Have you ever even played together? Because this looks more like the opening scene of Mighty Ducks than a scrimmage.”

“Uh, Sir,” a rather red-faced boy said. Greenberg, his head belatedly supplied. Right wing, fourth line, quick but sloppy. “You have seen Mighty Ducks? All three movies or just the first one?”

“Shut up, Greenberg,” Derek growled.

“Ha!” Stilinski grinned. “You sound like Coach already!” At his growl, the teenager quickly skated back. “Woah, stop it with the icy glare, Sir, Assistant Coach, Sir. And we used to be pretty good, before, uh, certain changes took place.” His eyes flickered to Scott first, and then to the twins.

Noticing that McCall was about to flare up again, Derek raised his voice. “Whatever it was that made you conveniently forget how to play hockey, it’s clear that this isn’t working. Coach Finstock gave me free reign, so, I’m changing up the lines.”

“You’re _what_?” McCall exclaimed and, for once, he seemed to have the support of his team as they rallied around him to protest the changes. Derek bit back a grin. Nothing like a common enemy for team building. But all amusement fled as he heard the boy’s next words.

“Who do you think you are, huh? We don’t have to listen to you. Just because you were drafted by the Blackhawks doesn’t mean that you’re better than us! You never even played in the NHL, they kept you in Rockford almost the whole time! An AHL champ you are, what was the team called again? Icehogs?”

Now he knew how McCall had spent most of the five minutes the team had been given them to prepare. It didn’t matter to the Beta that Derek had been called up, right before the accident, and Derek wasn’t in any mood to explain himself.

“Dude,” he heard Stilinski breathe. It sounded half awed and half alarmed.

Derek snarled, his patience nearing its end. “Listen, punk. Even if I had the hockey knowledge of an arctic monkey, you’d still have to do anything I say.”

Scott snorted. “Yeah, sure—“

Derek roared as loudly as he dared into Scott’s face—something he’d never done before in his life. He let a little natural authority bleed into his frame, body straightening into an aggressive stance as he towered over the younger Beta.

To his utter amazement, Scott showed a hint of survival instinct and backed down. Derek didn’t let any of it show, but on the inside he cheered, thanking his brat of an older sister for years of flaunting around her superior Alpha status. Trying to best her had taught him more about posturing than years of professional hockey had.

Stilinski was staring at him, something like awe in his gaze as he watched Scott lower his gaze. Still, “Really? Arctic Monkeys? Like the band?” was what came out of his mouth and Derek had to give him kudos for sheer unflappability.

Pulling back, Derek reined in his sudden anger and made sure to meet the eyes of everyone present. “Anyone else here have a problem with my authority?” he asked. Holding up a hand, he added a quick: “And yes, I know that you do, Stiles. I’m talking to anyone else here.”

“Huh,” Stilinski said. “You totally know my name. That’s so cool!”

Derek rolled his eyes, but it did break the tension on the ice. There were no outright challenges, either, so he counted that as a win. “Enough talk, back to work,” he barked, quickly dividing the players into different lines, even going so far as to have them play different positions.

They kept on it for the rest of the allotted time, Derek changing the lines at random, until he was as confused as the boys were. And that was exactly what he’d been waiting for, because as all of them battled breathlessness and exhaustion, they forgot to be miffed about not being able to play with their usual line-mates and did just that. Play.

After a beautiful combination of the twins displaying their stick handling capabilities, Scott took over and landed a beautiful goal, so fast that the goalie, who’s name for the life of him he couldn’t remember, looked a bit stunned.

Grinning, Derek blew his whistle and had them all skate over. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Good work, guys, now hit the showers. See you tomorrow.”

Among various sighs of relief and more than one good-natured complaint, they walked awkwardly down the hallway to the locker room. Looking after them, Derek even noted the odd grin here and there and couldn’t help but think that maybe this hadn’t been a total disaster.

Surprisingly, it was Stilinski that stayed behind. “You were wrong,” the boy murmured, looking up at him from under long lashes. “I don’t have a problem with your authority. Like, at all.”

Skating backward to the bench, Derek grabbed an abandoned stick and plopped a puck on the ice. “Go home, Stiles,” he said softly, trying not to let it show how much the innocent words affected him. 

As he slowly began to move, he kept an eye on the boy. Their eyes met for a split second and a sudden feeling of familiarity washed over him. He’d never felt anything like it before, the mix of confused longing and deep-rooted rightness as much his own as that of the human teenager still standing at the side of the rink.

Derek did a sharp turn, pushing the puck back and forth in an easy pattern, and when he looked again, the boy was gone. Concentrating on his play, Derek ignored the slight disappointment, shoving the strange and inappropriate emotions down deep.

 

* * * *

 

Stiles lingered, even after Coach Hale had sent him away. He’d moved into the darkness of the hallway, hoping that he was far enough away even for ‘wolf senses.

He watched his new coach for a long time, noticed the smooth, clean skating, the ease with which he handled the puck. There was a grace to the bulky man on the ice that seemed to be missing anywhere else, and it fascinated Stiles.

It wasn’t the first time that he’d felt attracted to a guy, he’d pretty much known that he was bisexual from the moment he’d realized that he watched Baywatch re-runs for both the boobs and the abs; but never before had it been this urgent, almost heart-stopping it its intensity.

Of course it had to be a guy almost five years his senior, his new Coach no less. No amount of rationalization made the feelings go away, though, and so he decided to just enjoy the sight before him guilt-free, at least for a while.

He watched, transfixed, as Derek – because if he was doing this, he might as well call the guy by his first name – facing away from him toward the vast expanse of ice, moved in perfect grace to a dance with no music. At least to Stiles it looked like he was dancing. His movements were smooth and precise. There was almost something ritualistic about the way Derek seemed to follow a pattern as he slid across the ice, chasing the puck.

Stiles could have spent the day watching Derek move like that. But then the movement halted and he came to an abrupt stop and stood – very still – for a few moments, breathing hard. Finally, he turned slightly towards Stiles, a soft, almost peaceful expression on his sweat-slicked face.

Stiles felt his heart stutter at the beauty of the man. Without the layers of aggressiveness and mocking superiority, Derek looked different. Younger for one, and lit up by the simple enjoyment of being on the ice, it was as if the brooding and oftentimes scowling mask had been stripped away.

There weren’t many things in his life that Stiles had ever wanted that were so thoroughly out of his reach. Lydia had been one, but he’d gotten over her eventually, helped along significantly by her utter and total devastation following Jackson’s leaving.

As he now watched Derek skate a few more rounds, the soft ‘woosh’ of his blades the only sound on the rink, there really wasn’t any room for doubt.

Stiles wanted Derek. Desperately. He was so screwed.

 

* * * *

 

Their first game was against the Huntington Thrashers. Derek stood beside Finstock behind the player’s bench and watched the first line go to town. Unfortunately, the forwards accomplished absolutely nothing and it was only due to some quick interference by Stiles and Isaac that they weren’t behind a couple of goals already.

“Defense, good shift,” Derek said as Coach Finstock send out the fourth line to give them all a little breathing room. “Ethan, Aiden, I want you to change positions again next shift. And McCall, there is such a thing as passing the puck, why don’t you try it sometime?”

The twins snickered, already planning their next plays, but Scott just sat there and stared ahead with a grim expression.

“Jesus,” Derek groaned and glanced heavenward. “Have I ever been that young?”

“Probably not,” Stilinski piped up, apparently having gained enough breath back to taunt Derek like he was wont to do any given time. “I bet you came out of the womb with your scowl and the five o’clock shadow already intact. And hey, is there a reason that the trainer of the Thrashers is staring at us?”

“Eyes on the ice,” Derek grunted, very deliberately not looking over to the other bench.

“Lol, that rhymed,” Stiles commented, deadpan, but that was the last Derek heard of him for the rest of the period.

“Alright, first, your turn again,” Finstock said, fifty agonizing minutes later. “This is our last shot, we’re two goals behind and only five more minutes to go. Let’s at least not embarrass ourselves any further, agreed?”

Derek refused to give in to the urge to slap his forehead, but it was a close call. He watched the twins play circles around the Thrashers defense, only to be stumped again by their own stubborn center, who wouldn’t give up puck possession, no matter how boxed in he was.

“Damn it, McCall,” Finstock said under his breath and made a note on his pad. Shortly before his shift was about to be over, Scott went after the puck rather forcefully, earning himself a minor penalty for hooking.

“Great,” Finstock grumbled.

Derek groaned. “At least he kept his mouth shut this time.”

Just then, the call came. “Double minor,” the referee said through the mike. “Hooking and unsportsmanlike conduct.”

Turning towards him, the coach bared his teeth at Derek. “You were saying?”

Derek shook his head, barely keeping a rein on his temper. “I’m gonna kill him.”

They got two more goals, even after almost two minutes of the penalty time were shaved off after the Thrasher’s first goal. Their Penalty Kill was laughable, the mad scramble to clear the puck actually hurting to watch.

By the end, Derek only prayed for the whistle. When it came, the team was off the ice so quickly, the Thrashers didn’t even have time to gloat. Much.

“Four-Zero,” Danny said mournfully, the goalie the last one to get off the ice. “I’m sorry.”

Derek snorted. “Not your fault, Mage. I know your stats, this was a team effort in failure.”

Danny nodded, but despite his bulky gear, he managed to look small as he walked down to the locker room.

Of course, Deucalion was waiting outside for him. “Good game,” he called out cheerfully, a bright grin on his stupidly handsome face. “Bummer your team sucks, though.”

Derek gritted his teeth. “Shove it, Duke. I’ve only been training them for a couple of weeks.”

“Sure,” Duke agreed genially. “But even so, there’s only so much one can do with a pile of horse dung.”

“What do you want?”

The Alpha’s grin was feral. “Cutting to the chase, huh? I like that.” He sauntered closer, his gaze wandering up and down Derek’s body. “Still delicious, Derek. I’m pretty sure you know what I want.”

Blowing out his breath through the nose, Derek lowered his gaze. “I’ve told you this before. I am not, nor will I ever be, interested in you again.”

Duke chuckled, the sound warm and inviting, even as his eyes glowed a deep red in mute warning. “Such a pretty little liar; you always have been. Your mouth tells one story, but your body quite another. Which one do you want me to believe?”

Derek shuddered, cursing his inability to control bodily reactions. He’d always been attracted to Deucalion’s power on a primal level, even as everything else about the man creeped him out.

“Coach Hale?”

Almost groaning in relief at the well-timed interruption, Derek turned and stepped back from Deucalion in one fluid movement. His heart was still threatening to beat out of his chest, and in an effort to distract himself from the Alpha’s closeness, Derek breathed in deep, filling his lungs with Stiles’ clean, unmistakably human scent.

“Yes?” He answered, somewhat belatedly. With no little amusement, he watched Stilinski give Deucalion the once-over, obviously coming up unimpressed.

“Did you still want to go over those new defensive plays?” His tone was innocently inquiring, even as his eyes were calculating. It was actually pretty impressing, the way he placed himself alongside Derek, not really challenging, but interfering enough to force the Alpha back or make a spectacle of staying.

It was a smooth move, one born of being around ‘wolves for as long as Stiles had and Derek couldn’t help but be impressed by it. Something about the situation didn’t sit right with him, though, and it was only after an expression flitted over Dukes face that reminded him eerily of Scott, that Derek figured out why.

Fucking hell. He was a damsel in distress!

Turning his attention back to Deucalion, he smirked at the stunned Alpha as if being defended by a human was an everyday occurrence for him. “There anything else you wanted?” He asked silkily, going as far as winking at Stiles.

Growling deep in his throat, Duke shook himself as if releasing rid of tension. “You better keep an eye on those twins of yours,” he grunted, before sending Stiles a red-tinted glare and striding off.

“Huh,“ Stiles said, still remarkably unimpressed. “Nice friend you have there. Who’s he, the runner-up to a Mr. Creepy-Wolf contest?”

“That’s Deucalion Reed, coach for the Thrashers.” Derek turned to leave, feeling uncomfortable in Stiles’ presence all of a sudden.

“Doesn’t explain why he was all over you like a bee on honey,” Stiles insisted, following him to his car.

Getting in, Derek hesitated in slamming the door shut just long enough to say: “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s also my ex-boyfriend.”

Leaving Stiles in the parking lot with his mouth gaping open did a lot to regain Derek’s equilibrium. And if there was also a hint of jealousy in Stiles’ gaze, well, then all the better. Chastising himself for the thought even as he felt a satisfied smile bloom on his face, Derek drove off.

 

* * * * 

 

He would have placed any bet on things getting better with McCall once he’d established his position on top of the food chain, but as it turned out, he’d have lost it.

As it was, being yelled at was the least of his problems when it came to the recalcitrant beta.

“Why don’t you do it yourself then!” Scott shouted at him, red in the face and slightly limping on his skates. They were practicing hits and Isaac had volunteered Scott. Earlier, he’d made the mistake of asking what that had been about, only to have Stiles point up at the ranks. There was a group of giggling girls up there, one of them dark-haired and intense, her clear gaze resting on Scott as the ‘wolf trained.

Shrugging in answer to Scott’s demand, Derek said: “Sure,” and skated over to get into position, presenting his back for Boyd to slam into with all his might as he pretended to play the puck.

When he did, Derek turned his body the tiniest bit, rocking a bit with the check, but stayed on his feet. Startled, Boyd yelped and lost his balance, tumbling down, legs akimbo and landing hard on the unforgiving ice.

“Whoa,” the usually quiet beta said after he’d regained his breath, accepting Derek’s hand to get up. “How did you do that, stay on your feet like that?”

Derek smiled. “A friend showed me. It’s pretty much a matter of picturing yourself as an immovable object.”

“Tell me about it. Jesus.” But Boyd was grinning at him and Derek patted his helmet good-naturedly.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Isaac give him one of his more adoring smiles and he sighed, He was quickly running out of ideas on how to deal with the young Beta.

It was clear as day to him that Isaac was pining for Scott, recognizing him as a potential mate on an instinctual level. What was also apparent was Scott fighting against the instinct, probably because of his misguided interest in Allison. And as a result of being pushed away, Isaac was diverting his attentions to the only other unattached ‘wolf he knew – namely Derek; which in turn had Scott fly into uncontrollable rages fueled by his unacknowledged jealousy.

Derek stifled another sigh. What a mess.

The next thing he knew, he was lying flat down, seeing stars. His vision was narrowed down to a tiny strip of white, the cold seeping through his thick fleece vest and for some reason he seemed to be unable to catch his breath.

There was a strange noise somewhere around the vicinity of his head, but he couldn’t make it out. He flinched when something touched his head, but then there was sudden warmth enveloping the cheek that had been pressed against the ice and he groaned in relief.

“—ek? Derek? You with me, buddy?”

Derek moaned, senses coming online again in a dizzying rush. “Ugh,” he murmured, pain lancing through his head as he tried to move.

“Easy,” Stiles said, and of course it was Stiles to come to his rescue. Again.

“What happened?” Derek slurred, leaning heavily on Stiles as he got two surprisingly strong arms under him to help him up. The cut on his forehead was already healing, he could feel the edges closing, but from experience he knew that a concussion was harder to get over, even for a ‘wolf.

“Scott happened,” Stiles snapped, his gentle hands at odds with the harsh tone. “He boarded you. Got you pretty good too, judging by the blood.”

“Ah,” Derek said, closing his mouth quickly as nausea welled up. A hesitant hand on his arm had him squint at Isaac, and he gave the beta a smile as the pain instantly lessened. “Thanks,” he croaked and was almost blinded by the answering grin.

Stiles looked him over critically. “Let’s get you off the ice. Is there anyone we can call to pick you up?”

Derek groaned in real embarrassment at the thought of Laura seeing him like this. “Uh, no. I’ll be fine, just need a minute to get my wind back.”

“Um,” Scott this time. The beta had hung back behind the others, but Derek had sensed his presence, instincts still on overdrive from the unprovoked attack. Derek could almost feel the heated glares the team threw at him and although it felt good to have them pick his side like that, Derek also knew what it felt like to make a mistake and be ostracized because of it.

In some way, this was his fault too. He’d seriously underestimated Scott’s inability to deal with both his love-life and the changes the bite had triggered in him.

He raised an eyebrow, silently prompting Scott to speak his mind.

“I don’t think you should drive like this,” Scott finally said.

Derek pulled his lips back, revealing his teeth in a warning gesture. “I’m not sure I give a damn about your opinion right now, McCall.”

“I’ll get him home,” Stiles said sternly, gently maneuvering Derek away. Bemused, Derek let himself be manhandled off the ice, grinning a little at Scott’s hangdog expression. “’S not his fault,” he murmured, a little surprised when Stiles answered.

“Sure, because his wayward ‘wolf hormones forced him to ram your head into the wall.”

“In a way,” Derek said, frowning as the world tilted a little.

“Whoa there,” Stiles exclaimed, grabbing him around the waist. “You need to sit down? Let me say, green really isn’t your color.”

Derek snorted softly, but found that if he concentrated hard enough, he could actually walk in a straight line, mostly without help.

It wasn’t until they were sitting in Stiles’ Jeep that Derek came back to his senses. By then it was too late to gracefully back out of the offer, of course.

“So, where to?” Stiles asked, keys in the ignition.

Derek groaned but gave him the address anyway. “Tell me again, why can’t we take my car?”

“Practicality,” Stiles answered, deftly navigating the late afternoon traffic. “I need my car to get back home and that bump on your head looks nasty, so I’m guessing you shouldn’t drive tomorrow either.”

Derek glared at him, or as close to a glare as he could get with the way his head was pounding. “And how am I supposed to get to practice tomorrow?”

Stiles smirked. “Why, I’ll come pick you up, of course.”

Walked right into that one, Hale. “Of course,” he groaned.

“Well, if you feel up to it, I mean. You can skip a practice once in a while, you know. I’m sure Finstock will even try to do his job again if you do.”

“Miss him, do you?” Derek teased, unable not to. He felt strangely comfortable sitting in a beat-up Jeep with a raging headache and one of his students playing chauffer. Jesus, his brain was scrambled.

“Like a sore,” Stiles snorted. “Anyway, I think the best way to go would be for us to exchange numbers, just in case you won’t make it tomorrow. Can’t have me driving all the way out there for nothing, now can we?”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Can’t really argue with that.”

“Great!” Stiles said cheerily and thrust his phone into Derek’s hands. “Put it in, I’ll give you a call later, see how you’re doing.”

Derek let out a sigh, closing his eyes briefly to get them to focus on the small screen. He fumbled with the touchpad, but finally managed to type in his digits. Looking up, he noticed the smug little grin on Stiles’ face. “You are taking advantage of my brain injury then,” he stated.

“Yup,” was the answer. There wasn’t really anything to say to that, so they spent the rest of the drive in silence.

“So this is it?” Stiles asked as if he didn’t know. The old Hale family estate was somewhat famous, ever since years ago a camera-team had shown up and insisted that the old house was haunted and cursed to bring harm and misfortune to its inhabitants. Apparently, it had shown up on some old map and for a few months, ghost hunters and witches of all kinds had shown up to “cleanse” it.

Derek was pretty sure that, if there was such a thing as a curse, it was still there.

“It’s pretty,” Stiles continued, and Derek shrugged absently.

Laura was already on the doorstep, alerted by the rumble of a strange car in their mile-long driveway. She frowned at the sight of him, presumably at the blood still clinging to his hair and face, but then she glanced at Stiles and her eyebrows climbed into her hairline.

“Uh,” Derek said desperately. “Thanks for, uh, getting me here. I appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Stiles said with a grin, waving at Laura. She smirked and waved back.

Getting out of the car as quickly as he could, Derek didn’t turn around again, even as the Jeep rumbled to life after a moment.

“Cute,” was all Laura said. “Bit young, though.”

“Don’t even start,” Derek said, walking past her and making a beeline for the medicine cabinet to get some feverfew drops. His head was killing him. “He’s my student. Off-limits.”

 “Whatever you say, baby brother.” Laura sauntered off without another word, leaving Derek with a slight feeling of unease at her easy acquiescence.

Cleaning himself up a little, Derek tried in vain to convince himself that he wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 

* * * *

 

As it turned out, Derek didn’t actually feel well enough to come to practice the next day and spent most of it dozing in his room, shades drawn and lights off.

When his grumbling stomach forced him down and into the kitchen sometime in the afternoon, the last thing he expected was for Stiles to sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

“Oh, hi, Derek,” the teenager chirped, munching on a piece of toast. “How do you feel? You look like crap, but that’s just my opinion.”

“Accurate,” Laura grinned from where she was preparing what smelled like herbal tea.

“What,” Derek croaked, trying again after clearing his throat when his voice died on him. “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, about that. Funny story, but remember the coach we used to have? Turns out he refuses to lead practice without you, so it’s been cancelled until you’re better. Thought I’d check on you like I promised and give the others an update. They miss you, by the way. Scott feels horrible, but hey, he should.”

Absently accepting the mug Laura shoved into his hands, Derek desperately tried to figure out if there was any chance that this was all a very strange, concussion-induced dream.

And then Stiles said: “I’ve met your Uncle,” and there was no mistaking the tone. Derek had heard it only a few times, but it was very distinctive. After all, most people had no idea how to react when meeting one’s badly burned Uncle, who also happened to be in a vigilant coma and only sporadically reacted to stimuli.

Derek gave a slight nod. “Yeah,” he said softly, taking a sip of tea and instantly wishing for coffee. “He tried to save Mom and Dad. Got into the car, even as it burned.”

Stiles sighed softly. “For all it’s worth,” he murmured, including Laura with a quick glance. “I admire what you two are doing here. Family’s important.”

It shouldn’t be as important as it somehow was, the simple acceptance of a human boy, but it soothed an ache in Derek he hadn’t even noticed was there. He shrugged and looked down, feeling shy all of a sudden.

If Stiles noticed it, he made no show of it. He finished his coffee – which Derek eyed enviously while he sipped his tea – and excused himself soon after. His gaze lingered on Derek though, and when he murmured a soft “Get better soon, Coach Hale,” and gripped his forearm, Derek couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

 

* * * *

 

To Derek’s surprise, things went a lot smoother after he came back. The whole incident seemed to have been the wake-up call Scott had needed to at least try to keep himself in check. It wasn’t all smooth sailing of course, the Beta’s emotions were still all over the place more often than not, but lately, Derek had noticed him turning to Isaac more and more often.

As direct consequence, the Wildcats’ play improved a lot. There was still the odd bad game every now and then and the Thrashers proved to be a constant thorn in their side as they moved through the season, especially since Deucalion’s taunts rang in his ears after every encounter. Still, even Derek was astonished by his teams’ newfound consensus.

“Believe it or not, it has a lot to do with you and your inability to accept failure,” Stiles had said one night on the way back from an Away game.

“Not like I had much of a choice,” Derek grunted, not looking up from his tablet. He felt Stiles lean half over him to get a look at it and sucked in a startled breath. Even after months of this, of the teasing and the banter and Stiles’ moving into his space as if it was the most natural thing in the world, it still caught him by surprise sometimes. It never got any easier to ignore, what he felt for the boy.

“Hah,” Stiles crowed, “You’re still only at level 93? You suck at Candy Crush, Derek, admit it.”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer, he just put his hand flat on Stiles’ face and pushed him back into his seat. The teenager let out an undignified squeak, but Derek could hear the laughter in his voice as he told him to “Watch the merchandise, Hale!”.

He frowned a little at the use of his last name. He’d officially become ‘Derek’ sometime between puking his guts out in front of Stiles and the time Stiles had thought it a marvelous idea to stop a puck. With his face.

Derek still vividly remembered the panic he’d felt when Stiles had dropped in front of the net and hadn’t gotten up again. He’d been on the ice as soon as the whistle went off and got there just in time to see Stiles spit out a tooth. He looked a little dazed, his fair skin was bruising already, but he was grinning widely, showing off the new gap in his otherwise perfect row of pearly whites.

There had been blood on his lips, and Derek had felt sick at the sight of it. Stiles wore his battle wounds, as he called them, with pride and was on the ice again only ten minutes later.  Ever since then, his hockey nickname had been changed to ‘Steel’ – not even a hint of irony anywhere.

For a while, Derek hadn’t let Stiles out of his sight. One time, he’d even growled at Aiden when the Beta got a little too handsy with the human during practice. “Down, boy,” Stiles had grinned, but his eyes were soft as they met his.

Confused, Derek had withdrawn after that. It seemed like no matter what he did, he still ended up getting Stiles’ hopes up, even if nothing was ever spoken out loud.

 

* * * *

 

It wasn’t the most embarrassing thing he could have walked in on, but it came pretty close. Scott and Isaac were facing each other, partially shielded by Stiles. Surprisingly, the human was the only one that noticed his entrance, even though he didn’t react to it. His attention was mostly focused on the two Betas that were about to conclude their strange mating dance.

At least Derek sincerely hoped so, if only so that Lahey would be put out of his misery. The boy practically vibrated with unresolved sexual tension—no wonder he’d eyed Derek like a piece of meat.

“Isaac,” Scott was saying softly, reaching out to the other Beta.

For a long moment, Derek doubted that the hand would be taken. To his total lack of surprise, it was Stiles that gave Isaac the little nudge that prompted him to take that final step and let himself be gathered in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Scott whisper into the auburn locks at Isaac’s neck and he turned his back quickly as he saw the visible shudder run through the younger ‘wolf. A moment later, he heard a soft exhalation and the even softer sounds of lips meeting lips.

Footsteps shadowed his and together, he and Stiles walked out of the locker room.

“Finally,” Stiles murmured as soon as the heavy door clanked shut behind them.

“Amen,” Derek agreed.

 

* * * *

 

They finally had ‘the’ discussion, just two weeks after the Wildcats made the playoffs. Fed up with Derek’s avoidance strategies, Stiles had cornered him in his office and seemed determined to hash things out right then and there.

“Come on!” Stiles whined. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me and bear my cubs or anything.”

“You are a very strange human being,” Derek muttered, grimacing at the cubs comment.

“Your point being? And don’t change the subject, Derek.”

 “My point,” Derek said plainly, “is that there is no ‘subject’ to talk about. We’re friends, that’s as far as things can go between us as long as you are my student. End of story.”

Stiles smiled. “I won’t be your student forever.”

Derek grinned. “No, you won’t.”

Smile fading, Stiles glanced at the ground, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. “Uh, so,” he said, haltingly. “But then we can… you know? You won’t change your mind just because you have to wait for this here sexy bod to become legal?”

Derek couldn’t help it, the laugh bursting from him and before he could think better of it, he pulled Stiles into a tight hug. “No,” he murmured into soft hair. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Stiles breathed and placed a tiny kiss on his cheek, a quick touch of lips to skin that had Derek close his eyes and hold on tight.

“Alright,” Stiles crowed when he finally pulled back. “What do you think, Coach Hale, ready to thrash the Thrashers?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Derek answered.

 

* * * *

They didn’t get past the first round, but somehow, even Duke’s sneering face couldn’t affect the satisfaction Derek felt as he watched the twins took Scott between them to console him. Boyd had Isaac in a headlock, giving him a noogie, while Greenberg and a few of the others were clustered around Danny, tapping and petting him wherever they could reach.

“So, we lost,” Finstock commented from behind him. He’d finally shown up again after weeks of being incommunicado. The letter of resignation he’d dropped off had surprised exactly no-one.

Derek nodded, not taking his eyes off his players that were slowly starting to trickle off the ice.

“Eh,” Finstock grumbled. “Wasn’t a bad season, though. I don’t know what you did to get them to work together, and I’m not sure I even want to know, but, yeah. My job is yours, if you want it.” With that, he turned to go.

Derek stared after him, stunned speechless. He’d never even considered the possibility of staying, especially not since he’d gotten his acceptance letter from the Remus Youth Centre in San Diego almost a month ago.

He hadn’t told anyone yet about the position they’d offered him. Watching Stiles jump on Scott’s back to be carried off the ice, Derek heaved a sigh.

The season was officially over and he couldn’t delay making a decision any longer. Letting his gaze wander over the by now empty rink, Derek made a choice.

 

 

Epilogue

 

Stiles accepted his diploma with a huge grin, shaking Mrs. Argents’ hand and pulled his mortarboards’ tassel to the other side. A cheer was heard from the crowd as he waved at them, catching a glimpse of his Dad’s proud face as he joined his class-mates.

Coming to stand besides Scott, he bumped into his best friend playfully. “We did it, man,” he yelled to be heard over the renewed cheers as the twins received their diplomas.

“Yeah,” Scott grinned, bodily forcing Stiles to look to the side. “Seems like someone else is here to congratulate you.”

His heart pounding, barely able to breathe as a wild hope surged in him, Stiles scanned the throngs of people. He didn’t even notice when the others threw their hats in the air, didn’t stop when he heard someone yell his name.

The only thing he could see was Derek standing there, looking a little unsure of himself but wearing a proud smile nonetheless and there was no stopping him. He was running even before the first hats hit the ground, slamming into Derek’s chest and was caught by strong arms that surrounded him, lifted him up to whirl him around.

“Oh god, I missed you so much,” he whispered into the broad chest, blindly turning up his head, moaning as lips finally met lips. For a while, nothing existed but the two of them, the smell of Derek’s skin, the way his hands moved into his hair as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re not my Coach anymore,” Stiles said softly as he pulled back a little, the sounds of the celebration slowly filtering back into his consciousness. From the corner of his eyes he could see his Dad stand there, watching them with a gobsmacked expression on his face and he knew that there were some long talks in his immediate future, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he had Derek right where he’d always wanted him.

“No, I’m not,” Derek rumbled, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. Reaching down to grab his boyfriend’s hand, Stiles smiled.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
